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BOSTON: 

TICKNOR, REED & FIELDS. 

18.51 



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BORDER ADVENTURES: 

V*' OF A 

J^EW-ENGLANJ) TOWN; 

AND OTHER POEMS. 



WITH AN APPENDIX. 



BY EUGENE BATCHELDER, 

AUTHOR OF THE EXTRAVAG.VNZA, ENTITLED, A "kOMANCE OF THE SEA 
SERPENT, OR ICTHYOSAURUS." 



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BOSTON: 

TICKNOR, REED & FIELDS. 



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Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1850, by 

Eugene Batchelder, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Mass. 



CAMBRIDGE : 
PRINTED AT THE 
CHRONICLE OFFICE. 




BosToy, Oct. 21, 1850. 
My Dear Sir, ^/ 

I liaye the honor to enclose the following copy of a resolution 
passed at the centennial dinner at New Ipswich, on the 11th of Sep- 
tember. 

Voted, That the thanks of the Natives of New Ipswich, and their 
friends here assembled, be presented to the Orator and Poet of the day 
for the interesting and appropriate address and poem, and that a copy 
be herewith requested for publication. 
I am Sir, 

Very Eespectfully Yours, 

F. S. AINSWORTH, 
Chairman of the Committee of Publication, 
Eugene Batchelper, Esq., 

Old Cambridge. Mass, 



PREFACE 



The first poem in this little volume, was delivered at the Centennial 
Celebration of the town of New Ipswich, New Hampshire, on the 11th 
of September, 1850. 

The Committee having requested a copy for publication, it is accord- 
ingly published in its present form. No one can regret more than 
myself, that the early settlers of New Ipswich, did not furnish for their 
future historian, a more abimdant harvest of " Romantic Incidents " ; 
and yet hoAV much those sturdy men accomplished. 

They cleared the forests, — fought the Indians, — built log houses, — 
erected churches, and forts, — laid out roads, — constructed bridges, — and 
above all, have transmitted to their children, (unscathed by the fire of 
the Revolution,) the blessings of Political, and Religious Liberty. A 
tliousand towns in New-England, owe their prosperity to-day, to pre- 
cisely such men ; millions of beating hearts ever}nvhere rise up to do 
them honor. 

The other poems in this volume, have already had a wide circulation 
in the Magazines and periodicals of the couutiy, dm-ing the last ten 
years, and are now, for the first time, collected. Some of these poems 
have appeared in Littell's Living Age, the Boston Post, the Boston 
Atlas, the Evening Transcript, the Christian Witness, the Portland 
Transcript, the Boston Journal, the Cambridge Chronicle, &c., &c., over 
the signature of "Wave. 

A few of the later poems were wi-itten for the columns of the 
Waverly Magazine, during the time that periodical was under the 
editorial charge of the author. With many emotions of doubt, and 
hope, they are again submitted, in this new form, to an indulgent 
public. The Auihoe. 

Old Cambridge^ November 3d, 1850. 



BORDER ADVENTURES. 



How vain the task to paint the thoughts that burn 
When wandering exiles to their homes return ! 
What feelings gush from every opening heart, 
What tears of joy from every eyelid start, 
What smiles rekindle, and what hopes renew, 
As bursts once more our native town in view ; 
What joyful welcomes bid the heart to feel 
That kindness here, is not officious zeal. 
But something more — a greeting kind, and warm, 
That gladdens life, and takes your heart by storm. 

This we have felt, a newborn impulse thrills 
Our souls to think we tread our native hills ; 
We view with joy that sacred village spire, 
Illumed with light, as glows the east with fire, 
And hear its chimes careering on the breeze 
That still awake ten thousand memories. 
We see the roof, where first we drew our breath, 
Yon sacred graves, where rest our sires in death ; 



8 THE DISTRICT SCHOOL — A PORTRAIT. 

The village play-ground, with its spreading tree, 

Where oft we roamed in youthful frolics, free ; 

The ancient school-house, where, with " shining face," 

We first began fair learning's mighty race ; 

Mastered the mysteries of our A B C's, 

And spread our sails in wisdom's freshening breeze. 

Traced cabalistic problems on the board. 

And o'er our slates, whole lines of figures poured ; 

Mingled with pictures of the Master's face. 

Portraits not flatter'd by the artist's grace. 

Not drawn from memory, but all fresh, and fair, 

Just as he sat, enthroned upon his chair — 

Stood forth tltese sketches, of this man profound. 

Whose fame extended many miles around : 

No faint impressions were we known to trace, 

But gave each frown its just, and proper place. 

No Bubens taught us, in that magic art ; 

We had his very mien, and form by heart. 

For his impressions, made by rod and cane. 

Were well Daguerreotyped on every brain. 

We traced with Worcester, each land and sea. 
Cyphered with Adams to the Rule of Three, 
Spelt out big words from Perry's Dictionary, 
And learnt from Murray, how our verbs should vary, 
Were taught the difference 'twixt " could, would, and 

should,'^ 
And then were sent *' to go and bring in wood " — 



THE SNOW-BALL FIGHT. 

And while we piled it on the blazing fire, 

Were taught how kingdoms, kings, and thrones expire. 

And then at noon, impatient to be free. 
We scampered out with many a shout of glee. 
Or with the zeal that school-boys only know, 
Rolled rough and tumble, in the drifted snow ; 
Or from the fort, our busy hands had made, 
Begin on some the snowy cannonade, 
Launch the smooth snow-ball on its airy course, — 
With aim unerring, and with reckless force, 
Pour on the dunce in Academic Halls, 
A flight of snow-flakes, and a storm of balls, — 
Strike down the tell-tale, and the traitor, who 
Has told at home, the exploits of the few : 
No hope of help, the hapless tell-tale sees, 
The icy missiles glitter in the breeze. 
Deserted now upon the wintry plain, 
He swiftly flies, — but flies alas ! in vain. 
For sallying forth, with uproar wildly loud. 
The angry urchins quickly round him crowd, 
Plaster him thickly with a coat of snow, 
And leave him there, a monument of woe ! 

Some stay at noon, — a mother's tender care 
Oft filled our baskets with the daintiest fare ; 
The mammoth dough-nut, and the apple pie, 
Appealed at once to every hungry eye ; 



/ 



10 STAYING AT NOON — MARRIAGE. 

Crackers and cheese, with apples red, and round, 
A ready market at these noonings found : 
The game of tag, in which the girls took part, 
The merry laughter, springing from the heart, 
The o'erturned benches, spreading ruin there, 
The upset inkstand, and the broken chair. 
And all the mischief school-boys ever do. 
Is bravely done, from twelve o'clock, till two ; 
Then comes the master, — and the noiseless chains 
Of thought, and study, bind our burning brains. 

Dear scenes of youth, our busy memory, true 
To Nature's promptings, brings them all to view ; 
And we would linger with the sacred jJast, 
" That was too bright, too beautiful to last ; " 
Recall again each vision long since fled. 
Each happy day that with our childhood sped. 
Each joyful hour, that, in the bloom of youth, 
Link'd manhood's virtue, with dear woman's truth, 
Each scene of life, — each well remembered scene. 
Kept by the fountains of our mem'ry green, — 
Shall live, and bloom, and gladden all the way 
That leads triumphant to a brighter day. 

How swift the coursers of old Time speed on, 
A moment here — a moment, and he's gone ! 
We hear the rushing of his chariot wheels. 
The next, his scythe trips up our heedless heels. 



11 



We saw him often on the Primer's page, 
With hoarj beard, and air sedately sage. 
One hand upheld the sandy glass of fate. 
Whose grains, for mortals, never fall too late, — 
The other bore that instrument of Death, 
That reaps down all, who draw the vital breath ; 
A slim old fellow, whom we used to think. 
When of life's stroam we trod the flowery brink. 
That we, at least, should certainly outlive him, 
Because in years, we had such odds to give him. 
And that perchance he'd leave us in his will 
His scythe, and hour-glass, as mementos, still — 
We see that he as strong, as stern, appears. 
As when we knew him in our earlier years, 
And while ice wonder, why he do n't grow old, 
He looks at us, and we in turn, turn cold.. 

So here, like Time, I trembling take my stand. 
The Past, the Future, spreads at either hand, — 
While all the Present opens on my view, 
I leave to fate, — your souls, your hearts, are true 
As were the hearts of those most gallant men 
Who found New Ipswich but a rocky glen. 
But who have made it, spite of rocks, and soil, 
To bloom, and blossom, by their manly toil. 
Where roamed the Indian through the forest shade, 
Now strays the lover with the bright-eyed maid ; 



I'A THE PAST AND THE PRESENT. 

Where oft he paddled in his light canoe, 
Our water wheels, drive looms, and spindles too ; 
Where oft he hunted, through the woods profound, 
Our honest farmers till the yielding ground ; 
Where once was heard the twanging of his bow, 
We hear the sheep bleat, and the cattle low. 
Where once his war-dance trampled down the green, 
Fair, peaceful children in their sports are seen, 
Where oft in bloody fight he met his foes, 
The village maiden culls the blushing rose, 
And while she wreathes it in her shining hair. 
She dreams but little of the struggle there ; 
The whistling arrow, and the dented plain. 
The knife that glittered in the chieftain's brain. 
The fierce wild war-whoop, and the song of death. 
Where tortur'd captives drew their latest breath ; — 
How can she dream, so peaceful is the scene. 
That such wild wars, and men, have ever been ? 
Where roamed the deer, beneath the greenwood tree. 
Our well-fed oxen plough the stubborn lea, 
And plenty showers o'er all our wide domain, 
Its wealth of harvest, in our ripening grain. 



Thus shines the present, safe from war's alarms — 
You till in peace your old ancestral farms, 
Blithe with the Spring, the busy task begin, 
And feast at Autumn, when the Harvest 's in ; 



A THANKSGIVING SCENE. 13 

Crown' d is the board with all that man desires ; 

Bright blush the ceilings, with your ruddy fires, 

But brighter eyes are beaming round the board, 

With mirth and fun, with love, and frolic stored. 

For who is sad when old Thanksgiving comes. 

With all its wealth of sweet-meats, pies and plums. 

Behold the farm-house, — at the old farm gate 

A merry group in high expectance wait, — 

The happy farmer, and the welcome guest, 

The city cousin — very nicely drest ! 

The village beauty, in her bran new hood ; 

The happy children — most discreetly good; 

The mother waiting for her eldest son, 

Who brings the bride, he has but lately won ; 

The village lovers, who have come to share 

The evening revel, and the generous fare ; 

The little boys, with collars white as snow, 

Who all the good tilings in the larder know. 

The little girls, their hair with ribbons tied, 

Who wait to welcome the expected bride ; 

The trusty house-dog, with his knowing face, 

Who seems to think that something will take place, 

Though what that something is, he does not know. 

Walks gravely round, with steps serenely slow. 

But see, they come, the jingling bells are heard, 

Forth flies to meet them, many a welcome word ; 

The mother holds within her warm embrace. 

The new found daughter, with her smiling face ; 
2 



14 THE SETTLEMENT COMMENCED. 

The boys and girls, around their brother crowd, 
With eyes all welcome, and with greetings loud. 
Oh ! happy group ; and oh ! most happy day, 
Ne'er shall New England see its fame decay ; 
It still shall live, — and all the future yet, — 
Shall never once Thanksgiving day forget. 



But now I pause, to trace the scenes long past, 
And weave a song that here I humbly cast — 
To all of you, and trust that it may be 
Worthy, New Ipswich, of thy Sires, and thee ! 



THE SONG 



How noiseless and swift have a hundred years fled, 

How fast they have circled away. 
Since our fathers first gazed on these hills that we tread 

AYith such varied emotions to-day. 
Oh ! say, did they dream, as they shouldered the axe, 

And trod through the forest's dark maze. 
With their rifles, and household gear slung at their backs. 

That we on this fair scene should gaze ; 
Did they dream, as the deer started forth from their path, 

And sped through the forest away, — 
While the Indian look'd down from yon hill in his wrath, 

At his hunting grounds stolen away, — 



THE SETTLERS PROSPECTS AND HOPES. 15 

That we on this morning, should all gather here, 
From city — town — valley — and glen, — 

To recite all the deeds, which we now hold so dear^ 
Of those glorious Pioneer Men. 



II. 

No, they thought not of us ; but, to hazard a guess, 

I suspect that they thought vastly more 
Of how they should manage, by skill and address, 

To keep famine, and wolves, from their door : 
I suspect that their thoughts took a practical turn, 

That they felt, there was work to be donCy 
That their future was bounded, by what they could earn, 

'Twixt the sun-rise, and set of the sun ; 
That they thought of the friends they had left on the shore, 

So many day's journey away — 
Where the bright waters dance, and the loud billows roar. 

In Boston's old time-honored Bay ; 
And as fancy reviewed ev'ry scene of the past, 

They sighed, if such men ever sigh. 
That though now in the desert their bleak lot was east, 

They might once see those shores ere they die. 



To trace the history of an ancient town, 
From quaint traditions, dimly handed down, 



16 THEY BUILD A LOG HOUSE AND CHURCH. 

Requires an eye, of fifty horse power force, 
And microscopes " ad libitum " of course. 
Our learned doctor Q) can the creature tell, 
If he but sees a fragment of the shell ; 
Show any fin of any fish to him, 
He knows its name, and where it used to swim ; 
Show him a stone, and he will tell you where 
The strata lies, and how you found it there. 
Whether 'twas thither by a glacier carried, 
Or by the Deluge to the mountain married. 
Show 1dm the feather of a single wing. 
He knows the bird, and how it used to sing. 
Give him the leg of any toad, or frog. 
He knows its habits, and its favorite bog. 
Oh ! would that I, with equal skill could turn, 
The dust that moulders on tradition's urn, 
To its true form, and show you bright and new, 
Each ancient legend, in its pristine hue. 



What claims at first, the grave historian's care ? 
Brave Foster's log-house, built precisely square, (~) 
Yet such a house, in seventeen thirty-eight. 
Was quite a palace in the Granite State ! 
The next new fact, that early dates disclose — 
Is, that a temple to Jehovah rose ; — 
'Twas built of logs, but well the logs were hewed, (^) 
A sight, our neighbors with much wonder viewed ; 



THEY BUILD A BRIDGE — HUNTING AND PISHING. 17 

Rough hemlock bark, peeled off with proper care, 
Instead of shingles, roofed this house of prayer : — 
And oft they gathered, in that humble place, 
To ask protection from the Throne of Grace. 
No echoing hell, a hundred years ago, 
Swelled o'er the wood-lands, and the meadows low, 
But when the week was o'er, its labors done, 
When rose in heaven the peaceful Sabbath sun. 
Then gray-haired men, and youthful maidens, came 
To sing the praise of their Redeemer's name. 



Next in events, above Souhegan's stream 
The woodman's axe, reflects the morning beam. 
They throw with skill, above its sparkling tide 
The new made bridge, with arches stout and wide. 
Ah ! bright Souhegan, often then you lent 
The new caught salmon to the settler's tent, 
Oft to thy tide came herds of deer to drink. 
Nor marked the marksman on thy flowery brink. 
Whose levelled rifle, sent the ball of death. 
That stopped their gambols and their vital breath, 
While thy bright tide received their gentle blood, 
And swept it onward with thy rushing flood. 
So far in peace we have pursued our way 
With dim traditions somewhat old and gray, 
But now of war and bloody deeds we hear. 
The war-whoop rises on the startled ear. 
2* 



18 THE FRENCH WAR — TWO FORTS BUILT. 

In seventeen fortj-five this war began. 

Leagued with the French were many a savage clan 

Of Indians wild, who thirsted for the fight, 

Whose hideous howlings stunned the ear of night, 

A band of devils joined with desperate men, 

Who filled the land with blood and rapine then. 

See, through the woods they hold their dread career, 

To where Watatick's cliffs in grandeur rear 

Their awful heads above the lowly glen 

That held brave Fitch, (^) with all his gallant men. 

New Ipswich heard the deadly shout of w^ar, 

And raised two forts to hold the foe in awe, 

And Ca[itain Tucker,(^) all his skill revealed, 

In teaching men, their duty for the field, — 

And here we give, in different metre quite, 

A little history of Watatick's fight. 



Brightly the sun w^as gleaming at morning, 

Over the w^de and glittering plain, 
While millions of flowers, the woodlands adorning, 

Bent low with the wealth of the yesterday's rain. 
Up o'er the mountains, the white mists were curling, 

Scaling in columns, like armies, the steep, 
While far, far above them, his dark wings unfurling. 

Soared the proud Eagle swiftly, with wide circling sweep. 
Downward the torrents roared on to the valley, 

Bursting impetuous, foaming and free, 



A BORDER FIGHT — BRAVERY OF WOMAN. 19 

Like the hosts of the brave, when in battle they rally, 

And charge, as the waves charge, the shores of the sea. 
That raormng brave Fitch to his comrades had cried, 

We have waited them long, but they do not appear, 
Perhaps in the woods by starvation they've died. 

So to-day you may hunt in the forest the deer. 
So off then they sallied that morn to the chase, 

And left Captain Fitch in the Fort all alone. 
All but women and children deserted the place. 

And this by the spies of the Indians was known. 
See, see, from the woods how their dark forms advance, 

While the French lead them on in their bloody career, 
The bright sun is gleaming on musket and lance. 

And the war-whoop proclaims that the battle is near, 
But no terror can startle the hearts of the brave ; 

So Fitch loaded up all his guns great and small, 
And determined those children and matrons to save, 

Or else in defence of his country to fall. 
By his courage inspired, those women declared 

They had rather meet death than yield to their foes ; 
Then like heroes those matrons their muskets prepared, 

And loudly the shouts of the conflict arose. 
The Indians and French are a hundred or more. 

And the men in the Fort, they number but two, 
But the women fight well, their guns loudly roar, 

For they fight for their children, and firesides too. 
But alas ! though so nobly for honor they fight, 

They are lost, for the foe by their numbers prevail, 



20 A RESCUE ATTEMPTED. 

And their burning fort gleams tlirough the darkness that 
night, 

And the shouts of the victors are loud on the gale ; 
Then their captives thej march on a desolate track 

To Canada, far through the wilderness drear, — 
Though little they know, that, pursuing them back, 

The Lunenburg settlers hung close on their rear. 
To the rescue as forward they marched on their trail 

The pursuers espied, on a wide spreading tree, 
A few lines from Fitch, roughly scratched with a nail, 

" In wdiich he desired no rescue might be 
Attempted, for then every prisoner must die 

A lingering death, by the stake, or the steel." 
So they left them to fate, while each sorrowing eye, 

Told a tale that their manliness could not conceal. 



Swift to New Ipswich flies this fearful news. 
How such wild tidings courage oft subdues, 
And sends the life-blood thrilling to the heart, 
With all the horror terror can impart ! 
They feel at once they are no more secure. 
They'd rather fly than such wild wrongs endure, 
And so to Townsend many take their way ; 
But Captain Tucker has resolved to stay 
And bear the brunt of every savage fray. 
He fears no Indian, and he dreads no harm. 
But w^orks as usual on his new made farm, 



THE BORDER MEN IN DANGER. 21 

Retires each evening to our Ipswich fort, 

And makes of fear a mockery and a sport. 

A few brave spirits are with Tucker there, 

And all his hardships and his dangers share ; 

They load their guns, and watch each weary night, 

Lest their neglect should prowling foes invite, 

Thus watch and ward they kept with anxious care, 

And Peace returning, found them faithful there. 

Now back from Townsend came our valiant friends, 

And Chelmsford too, some hardy settlers sends ; 

The Appletons and Chandlers also came. 

To link New Ipswich with their growing fame ; 

The Chandlers on Souhegan built a mill. 

And Kidder '11 (^) point you to its ruins still. 

And now to-day a hundred years are sped. 

Those gallant settlers sleep among the dead ; 

But here, in passing, I in brief review 

The deeds they did, to keep their memory new. 

Oh, ne'er should we forget our sires of old ! 

Oft are their virtues and their exploits told, 

Yet not too oft can we repeat the tale 

That hallows now each hill and dell and vale. 

Let patriot poets still their deeds rehearse. 

And crown their memory with immortal verse. 

Let not the orator the theme disdain, 

Nor yet the school-boy of the task complain ; 

By infant lips still be the lesson read 

Of those who fought, and those who nobly bled, 



22 THE SPIRIT OF SEVENTY- SIX. 

And let the man still cherish in his breast 
The names of those who to the battle prest. 
Let not our critics with their pens deride 
The books that tell us who have fought and died ; 
No, let the Land each tale of valor learn, 
And wreathe with bays each humble patriot's urn. 
So shall this boundless Empire of the West 
Stand for the future with new honors drest. 
New Ipswich holds within its records those 
Who nobly met and fought their country's foes. 
Nor must I pass them here in silence by, 
Who waged for us the war of Liberty. 
Our valiant townsmen to the rescue flew, 
When Concord's fight New England's heroes knew, 
They joined the host that compassed " Boston Town," 
And helped to strike St. George's banner down. 
On Bunker's height our brave New Ipswich men 
Made good their claims to veteran heroes then ; 
They saw the lines of England's hosts advance, 
No coward eye betrayed the craven's glance, 
They wrote with Putnam then their rights in blood, 
And poured their volleys on the advancing flood, 
Heard the fierce roll of England's rattling drums, 
" As the long line with fearful splendor comes," 
Yet faltered not to meet the dreadful shock. 
But stood as firm as old Monadnock's rockjC^) 
Tossed the sharp death-shot from each rattling gun, 
And gazed unblanched on battle's reddening sun. 



BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL — ACADEMY BUILT. 23 

No thought was there of flight or base retreat, 
The J came the minions of King George to meet, 
And meant to show what untried skill would do. 
That fights for freedom, and for vengeance too. 
Thirtj-six soldiers from New Ipswich there 
Breathed the fierce smoke of battle's dusky air, 
Nor turned they backward to their homes again 
Till freedom triumphed on old Yorktown's plain. 
The war is done, and peace returns once more 
With genial sunshine, to our happy shore. 
New Ipswich feels the influence of its ray. 
And hearts that once were sad are blythe and gay. 
Now education claimed our fathers' care. 
And quickly rose a structure large and fair. 
" Our friends are welcomed to this classic ground, 
For such it now most surely may be crowned," 
When patriots, heroes, statesmen, hither come 
To gaze once more upon the well known dome, 
By kindness reared, where erst of yore we pored 
O'er tomes with Hebrew, Greek,and Latin stored. 
Here studied Bowdoin's learned President, (^) 
The fame and peace he gained, might well content 
His grasping mind, enriched with heavenly lore, 
Mid learning's bowers, he found death's silent shore. 
Each circling year saw many a gifted son 
Leave this retreat, its honors bravely won ; 
As learning's seat, it made some little noise, 
And here were sent the Peterborough boys. 



24 GEN. JAMES MILLER — " I*LL TRY, SIR.'* 

And with tliem came James Wilson, famed Lo7ig Jim5(^) 

Who further then could ride, or jump, or sivim I ! 

Than any boy in all the country round, 

And just as hard to beat him now 't is found ; 

At Washington, where statesmen legislate. 

He often whips them in the fierce debate. 

Ah ! glorious Wilson, as I' ve heard you speak, 

I' ve felt the tears come coursing down my cheek. 

As you with power some scene of sorrow drew 

In your own way, all eloquent and new. 

And many an eye besides my own grew dim, 

The tear just starting on the eye-lid's brim. 

When presto, change, the sorrow all is o'er, 

And every voter laughs his loudest roac, 

Flies to the polls, and there is heard to swear 

That none but Wilson could have brought him there. 

Oh, long Jim Wilson, long may kindly fate 

Spare such aprop to our old Granite State. 

And Miller came, who bravely said " I'll try," 

Then stormed and took Old England's battery, 

Led on his men through Lundy's fearful Lane, 

And crowned our banner with new light again. 

Our merchant princes princely are in deed; 

When pity calls, their hearts and purses bleed ; 

Our old Academy such patrons found 

In those whose gifts of charity abound. 

The generous Appletons, (^^) with right good will 

Helped push the car up learning's rugged hill, 



THE ARTIST AND THE RHINE. 25 

They gave good aid, but other aid 'twill need 
Ere all its plans, and all its hopes succeed. 
Oh ! may the wealth that fortune showers down 
Oome back to beautify our native town. 

An artist, too, now claims a moment's care, 
Who breathes with us to-day his native air. 
Our gifted Champney ('^) is well known to fame. 
And lienors still are crowding round his name. 
Our own rough hills inspired the painter's eye, 
He watched them glowing in the sunset sky, 
And caught each tint upon his easel there, 
Till shone the landscape on the canvas fair. 
Though nourished 'neath our rugged northern pine, 
He painted with such skill the vine-clad Rhine, 
That travellers as they saw each fold 
Before their wondering eyes unrolled 
Point out, and know, each castled town 
That o'er its waves in grandeur frown. 

Here must I pause, for ah ! I fear too long 
I've kept you from your dinners by ray song. 
But still I linger o'er my latest page. 
To pour my tribute to an ancient sage. 
Illustrious Farrar, Q') few like thee may crave 
Such long indulgence from the greedy grave, 
And few like thee so full of honors fall, 
Admired and loved, and deeply mourned by all. 
3 



26 THE CONCLUSION. 

Farewell, farewell, this day is flying fast, 
Soon 'twill be numbered with the mighty past ; 
But often we with pleasure shall look back, 
As o'er life's sea we hold our stormy track, 
To this fair Haven, where we safely lay, 
And moored our barks with pleasure for a day. 
Forgot the tempests of life's troubled main, 
And pressed the hands of welcome friends again, 
Threw off the burden of our daily toil. 
And trod once more our own our native soil : 
And though to-morrow we may spread our sail, 
And bear away before fair fortune's gale, 
Yet still some word of kindly greeting here 
Shall linger with us, on our brief career, 
Until we reach that bright and heavenly shore. 
Where storms invade not, and no billows roar ; 
Oh 1 there again may we in perfect peace 
Meet, — where all partings, and all sorrows cease. 



NOTES. 



Note 1.— Page 16. 

Dr. A. A. Gould, of Boston, the distinguished naturalist. He is a 
native of New Ipswich, and was the orator of the day. 

Note 2.— Page 16. 
Abijah Foster built the first log house, in 1738. 

Note 3.— Page 16. 

This meeting-house stood on Judge Farrar's Hill ; it was thirty feet 
square, built of logs very nicely hewed, and roofed with bark. The su- 
perior elegance of this temple, excited the wonder of the neighboring 
towns. During the AYar of 1745, some of the early settlers of New Ips- 
wich fled to East Townsend ; while absent this meeting-house was burnt 
by the Indians. 

Note 4.— Page 18. 

Captain Fitch had a few men and several women and children, with 
him in his fort near Watatick's Hill, a short distance from New Ipswich. 
This fort Avas attacked by about a hundred French and Indians, while 
the men were out hunting ; Captain Fitch and one other man being left 
alone ; this man was soon badly wounded by a ball in the neck. Mrs. 
Fitch and the women came bravely to the rescue, loading and firing 
their muskets with such valor, that the Indians proposed to them that, 
if they would surrender the fort, they should be taken to Canada with- 
out harm. The fort was surrendered, and burnt by the Indians, and 



28 NOTES. 

Fitch and his party were marched off to Canada. One of the men by 
the name of Perkins, who was out hunting, was also shot by tlie Indians. 
The Luneningburg settlers armed at once, and pm-sued the Indians, but 
while following the trail, they accidently foimd on a tree a note from 
Captain Fitch, in which he assured them that if any rescue was attempt, 
ed, the prisoners would be immediately butchered. The pursuers, there" 
fore, returned. Captain Fitch and his party were canied to Canada, 
though he afterwards made his escape and returned to New Ipswich* 
Nearly all the New Ipswich people, concluded to go to East Townsend 
and remain until the war was over. 

Note 5.— Page 18. 

Captain Tucker with a few brave spirits, decided to remain in garri- 
son at the New Ipswich fort, instead of going with the other settlers 
to East Townsend. He kept "watch and ward" until the war was. 
over. 

Note 6.— Page 21. 
Frederic Kidder, Esq., a native of New Ipswich and now a merchant 
of Boston. He is well versed in the antiquarian lore of New Ipswich, 
and of New Hampshu-e. I am deeply indebted to him for many valuable 
facts. 

Note 7.— Page 22. 

The mountain of Monadnock is within a few miles of New Ipswich, 
and in clear weather is ahvays in sight. There were thirty-six, and 
some accounts say fifty-six, soldiers from New Ipswich at the battle of 
Bunker Hill. The muster roU of this Company is in the possession of 
Mr. Kidder. 

Note 8.— Page 23. 

The Eev. Jesse Appleton, a native of New Ipswich, and for several 
years President of Bowdoin College, Maine. 



NOTES. 29 

Note 9. — Page 24. 

Gen. James Miller, the licro of Lundy's Lane, and Gen. James AVil- 
son, were both educated at this academy. 

Note 10. — Page 24. 

The Hon. Nathan Appleton, and his brother Samuel Appleton, Esq., 
of Boston, are both natives of New Ipswich. They have done much to 
promote the cause of education in their native town. 

At the Centennial Dinner a letter was read from Samuel Appleton, 
Esq., which concluded with a toast, in which he gave $5000 to the New 
Ipswich Academy. 

Note 11. — Page 25. 

Benjamin Champney, the well known artist, is a native of New Ips- 
wich. His Panorama of the Rhine has won from the press and the 
public, wherever it has been seen, the highest testimonials of approbation. 
As a work of art, it is unrivaled in America. 

Note 12. — ^Page 25. 

The Hon. Judge Farrar, of New Ipswich, was graduated at Harvard 
University at the commencement of the Revolutionary War. He died 
at the advanced age of one hundred and two years. 



MISCELLANEOUS AND HUMOROUS 
POEMS. 



THE UNION. 



Where is the s^jirit our Fathers felt ? 

Where are the hopes that grew 
When in prajer on the battle field thej knelt 

And swore to be brave and true ? 
When lifting high the armed hand, 

And bowing the plumed head — 
The J prayed, Oh God, may the Union stand ! 

Then rushed where the valiant bled. 

II. 

Has that hallowed influence fled ? 

Those hopes from our hearts died out ? 
Is that prayer, and that spirit, wholly dead ? 

Are our minds and souls less stout ? 
We need not pray, where our Fathers prayed 

In the ranks of a steadfast band, — 
But we'll say like heroes undismayed, 

Oh God, may this Union stand ! 



32 



THE NEW-ENGLAXD CREED— ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

I. 

Take care of yourself, — what's the world to you, 

"With its sorrow, sin, and crime ? 
If you want to be rich, find something to do, — 

The poor are seldom sublime. 
To swim in the stream of wealth that flows, 

You must struggle with greedy men ; 
And one who has swum in the stream well knows 

It 's your only motto then. 

II. 

Take care of yourself, — you 're in luck if you 

Can build castles out of air — 
Or sail the ship, or pay the crew, 

From the profits visions bear. 
You must learn this truth, this startling truth — 

That the man who has laid up pelf 
Rose up one morn, in his early youth. 

And said, " Take care of yourself ! " 



33 



A BOSTON SONG OF 1775. 

" So deeply rooted was this horror of the very name of king in the 
bosom of the Romans, that imder their worst tyrants, and in the dark- 
est days, the forms of tlic republic were preserved." — Everett'' s Orations 
and Speeches, vol. I. p. 153. 

This song is from an unpublished poem, entitled "A Komance of 
tlie Union, or a shot at the Old World from the New." It is supposed 
to be sung by a young gentleman of Boston, one of the principal char- 
actors \\\ the poem, on the day before the battle of Lexington, 

I. 

The days of kings are numbered, — ■ 

There shall be no more kings ! 
Why should the earth be cumbered 

With such worse than useless things ? 
Why should the soul be daunted, 

With the gaudy pomp they bring. 
Or think that a " divinity 

Can hedge about a king." 

II 

Freemen, are never freemen 

'Till they are wholly free ; 
They must feel, and act, and be men, 

And must not seem to be. 
We are ready for the contest. 

We have placed our hopes on high, 
And as Freemen we will triumph, 

Or as Freemen we will die ! 



34 



CALIFORNIA SONG. 

This song Avas written, and dedicated, to a party of gentlemen that 
left Boston for California by the " overland route." They were or- 
ganized as a military company. 

I. 

Huzza ! Our tents full soon we'll strike ! 

And then we '11 march away, 
We 're going to leave the " Old Bay State " 

For San Francisco'sBay. 
Sadly we leave our father land, 

But oh ! we still shall be 
Where floats above our western strand 
The banner of the free ! 

Chorus. — March ! brothers, march ! 
Long our flag shall be 
The glory of our western shore ! 
The mistress of the sea ! ! 

II. 

Our ranks hold not the soulless knave. 

Who thinks that gold alone 
Could bid us all the dangers brave 

That round our path are thrown ; 
The chain of union, link by link. 

We draw across the land ! 
And from that distant ocean'^s brink 

We '11 stretch a friendly hand. 

Chorus. — March ! brothers, march ! 



35 

III. 

We bear, besides our banners brigbL, 

True hearts, that long have known 
To worship at the " shrine of right," 

Bat not a monarch's throne. 
The despot's foot we '11 never kiss ! 

But wholly, truly free, 
No tyrant soul shall taint our bliss 

With selfish slavery. 

C/wrif-s.—March ! brothers, march ! ! 

IV. 

All gorgeously, those golden hills 

Shall flash upon our sio-ht ! 
While waving woods and silvery rills 

Adorn each glittering height. 
Not all the wealth of golden sand, 

Or mines of virgin ore, 
Can make us recreant to our land, 

Or traitors to our shore. 

Chorus. — March ! brothers, march ! ! 



86 



CUT THE WIEES;. 

The steamer 's in ! and every man 

Has more than he can do, 
For each has formed a settled plan, 

And means " to put it through." 
But, alas ! for the castles built in air, 

Alas ! for all vain desires, 
The city is struck with a wild despair ; 

For some scamp has " cut the wires !" 

II. 

The charm of the thing is this, that I 

Had of corn an ample store ; 
But had just sent off a despatch to buy 

Ten thousand bushels more ; 
For hearing the news by my "carrier do vet 

That the '' heaviest firms were buyers," 
I thought it snug as '' a pair of gloves," 

And now they 've " cut the wires 1" 

III. 
The news is bad, as I must lose 

A part of the bushels bought, 
(I would the fiend that me pursues, 

Had the wire cutters caught.) 



87 



By my desJc, I swear ! this very night ! 

That the corn that has no buyers, 
I will give to any lucky wight 

That knows who " cut the wires." 



THE INAUGURATION OF PRESIDENT SPARKS. 

"WTien Edwaed Everett resigned his post, as President of Hai-vard 
College, it was presumed, in Cambridge, that this ceremony would not 
take place, and these lines were written under that impression. It was 
afterwards performed. 

INTERCEPTED CORRESPONDENCE. 

An Extract from the letter of a Student in " The University at Camhriclge^^'' 
to his brother Tom in New York. 

What ! no Inauguration ! its funny, but a fact, 
That our glorious Professors, have very little tact ; 
How men so fond of eating, should give up so good a spree, 
Has puzzled my poor brain, much more than Pei**e's 

Algebra. 
The truth is, Tom, the Cambridge men, would like right 

well to eat. 
But they say " Old Harvard " can't afford her numerous 

sons to treat. 
They have had a consultation, and counted up the cost, 
Two thousand, was the total, so this jolly feast was lost, 
And the " Mutual Admiration," they're struck with mute 

despair, 
4 



For they'd planned, in flowing bumpers, to toast each other 

there. 
Well, we have been a thinking, that we'd get up the spree ! 
And ask the Faculty to dine, and their wives to come to 

tea! 
And if there's any children, why, gracious, beg they'll 

bring 'em. 
And we'll provide them aprons of the very best of gingham : 
Ask the Governor and Council, the Senate, and all that, . 
The Mayor and the Aldermen, so plump and jolly fat. 
The House of Representatives, yes, they must be invited, 
Or every country member 'd think his little town was 

slighted ; 
And also delegations from Columbia, Bowdoin, Yale ! 
With their Professors, and their Presidents, will be here 

without fail. 
And every other College that our wide Republic knows. 
Shall send us three, to this great spree, this blow of all the 

blows. 
Prince Albert, w^ho is Chancellor, perhaps may get invited, 
But if he don't why little Vic. will feel that he is slighted. 
To all the Cape Cod fishermen we're going to drop a line, 
Just to beg they'll catch the " Sea Serpent," so Aga***z 

may dine ! 
For he's declared the beast will have, whenever he is caught, 
Four paddles, tho' he does'nt know whether they're long 
or short. 



Charles Sumner, the committee say, shall have an invi- 
tation. 
Because the students all admire his " Phi Beta '' Oration. 
If Fanny Kemble Butler is in town, we mean to have her 
At the '' tea fight " in the evening, she will be the mental 

lever. 
Holmes will read us at the dinner, the lines that killed the 

man 
Who died, because Holmes dared to write as funny as he 

can; 
We have no fear of dying, how e'er so queer they be, 
For we mean to fortify our brains, with pages twelve and 

three, 
From that queerest book on Harvard, " old Quin**s" history. 
And Longfellow has promised to write us such an ode ; 
The subject is a secret, that must'nt yet be " Mowed /^' 
And Fe***n, the committee say, will just one hour speak, 
And give the Prof's, a little touch, in the very choicest 

Greek ; 
While Dr. B**k in Latin will make a long reply. 
The students they will listen and will heave a weary sigh. 
But quickly they'll prick up their ears, when they come to 

hear the song, 
That J***s R*****l Loweirs promised, and the Club will 

sing it strong. 
Then we'll all give glad attention, when very slowly rising, 
The Ex-President begins his speech with eloquence sur- 
prising. 



40 



Ah ! Tom, we really love him, he has been the best of men, 
We only fear that we shall ne'er '' look on his like again." 
And we are really sorry, Tom, that he must really go. 
And leave us e'er he's taught us half that he is known to 

know ; 
But still we trust our Country will give him some great trust, 
While we, the Harvard students, think of giving him " a 

bust!'' 
Dr. Jackson at the banquet will wear Napoleon's star ! 
That belongs by right to Morton, and has caused " a pre, 

cious jar ; " 
'Twould take Parsons, Parker, Dexter, with Choate 

and all the rest, 
To tell, why those wise Frenchmen thought that he de- 
served it best ! 1 
About the illumination, we have n't settled that, 
Though it's caused in certain circles a deal of brilliant chat; 
They say as Sparks is coming in, that all our college 

" winders " 
Should be festooned — no, not with lamps, but sparkling 

sparks and cinders.* 
The cinders emblematical of the flame that genius blew 
When the great chieftain's life and times, the patient 

scholar drew. 
The coal that he was touch'd by, from his country's altar 

came, 

^ CiKDERS. Small coals or particles of fire. I believe this word is 
never used as synonymous with ashes. — Webster's Dictionary. 



41 



And biographies are merely the cinders of his fame. 
Away your wreaths of colored lamps, your dips of softened 

lard, 
We want whole lumps of solid light, to light up fame that's 

hard.* 
We mean to get some sky-rockets, and send them to the 

skies, 
So the gods upon Olympus had " better mind their eyes ;" 
They never cared for Harvard : her Professors long have 

been 
The hope of Boston ladies ! ! and the pride of Boston men. 
Brave Bowen he is coming to her rescue — but alack ! 
It's peculiar that the rescue begins with an attack, 
Tom ! Cambridge is the luisest place that ever I was in, 
There are lots of pretty girls here, — but few have " got 

the tin;" 
Bat then they're smart, I tell you, Tom, right smart, and 

very wise, 
They know the minute Venus sets, the moment Mars will 

rise, 
They'll tell you " lots " about the stars, and just how many 

million 
There are of rose bugs on a rose, while dancing one cotillon. 
And one is really beautiful, every tongue her praises swell, 
You remember, at the Newport ball, Aurora was the belle 

* Solid. 



42 



You know^ dear Tom, right well, that from a school boy I 

have been 
A scratching rhymes, at various times, whene'er I catch a 

pen ; 
These lines were written off, Tom, in a hurry, as you see, 
So pray excuse whate'er the muse through haste has said 

to thee. 
But as its getting rather late, and time to close this scrawl. 
Yet let me say, we mean the day^ to wind up with a ball ; 
(We mean to hire Tom Hyer, Tom, to thraiih the silly 

man 
Who dares to throw cold water on this last and brilliant 

plan.) 
And what with lots of feasting, and what with lots of fun, 
If there's any of the night left, when the Fancy Ball is 

done — 
Why we mean to go to Porter's, upon a jolly spree. 
And sing till morning the refrain of " Vive la Companie." 

P. S. But, Tom, I add this postscript, and I beg you'll 

mark it well. 
That as within Old Cambridge there is no good Hotel.* 
If sister Kate is coming, to he here long with mother, 
I'll speak for rooms in Bostoii ; but as your Christian 

brother 
Would like to have your company, I'll try to do for thee 

=^ Both the Railway and Hotel are now finished. 



48 



As I should wish iii such a case that you would do forme, 
And as the Railway isn't done, why come out in the ^hus') 
And chum and I will fix it so that you can sleep with us. 



THOMAS CARLYLE AND THE AMERICANS. 

" My friend brag not, yet of our American cousins ! Their quantity 
of cotton, dollars, industry, and resoui'ccs I believe to be almost unspeaka- 
ble ; but I can by no means worship the like of these. What great hu- 
man soul, what great thought, what great noble thing that one could 
worship or legally admire, has yet been produced there ? None ; the 
American cousins have yet done none of these things." — Thomas 
Carlyle's Latter-Day Pamphlet. The Present Time — P. 22. 

I. 

" We have not done a noble thincr ! " 

(At least, so says Carlyle,) 
This taunt, to most men's lips, will bring 

The deep sarcastic smile. 
We never sent six gallant ships, 

Deep freighted o'er the main, 
To give to Ireland's starving lips, 

The wealth of Western grain ! 

11. 

" We never did a noble thing !" 
The Pikrim Fathers trod 



44 

No self-denying march to bring, 
Their children home to God. 

Ben. Franklin, — Out ! poor Printer boy 1 
How dared he dare to teach 

Man that Jove's Bolts he might destroy, 
By power within his reach ! 

III. 

We never did a noble thing ! 

The noblest thing of all 
Was cutting loose from England's King, 

And his oppressive thrall ! 
When flinging back, his power, and might. 

Across the stormy sea, 
We wrote upon our cliffs in light — 

This Land, is truly free ! 

lY. 

We never did a noble thing ! 

Has Fulto7i, lived in vain ? 
Shall England's Minstrels never sing 

Of Washington again ? 
We scorn, tve spurn your idle taunt, — 

For still beneath the sun. 
Where e'er our flag, or race we plant, 

There noble deeds are done. 



1 

I 



45 



SONG OF THE MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS. 

These lines were -written under tlie following circumstances. The 
author happened to dine Avith Major Alyord of the fourth regiment of 
tlie United States Infantry, Col. Wright, and several other officers, of 
tlie Massachusetts Regiment of Volunteers, a short time before they left 
Boston, for Mexico. At dinnef Major Alvord, (who had just returned 
from Mexico, and had recently been promoted, for his bravery and cool- 
ness at the battles of Palo Alta, and Resaca de la Raima,) turned to 
me, and repeated that well known verse of HoseaBiglow's, beginning 

" Ez fer war, I call it murder," 

and ending with 

" An you've gut to git up airly, 
Ef you want to take in God ;" 

and inquired if I knew the author. 

I immediately mentioned the name of Lowell, 

The poem was variously criticised by those gallant young men, who 
were so soon to peril their fortunes, in the defence of their country, and 
her honor ; and it was while listening to their noble expressions, of burn- 
ing patriotism, and manly determination, to offer up their lives for their 
country, and her cause, that catching their enthusiasm, I wrote that even- 
ing, this song for the Massachusetts volunteers, which was published 
the next morning, in the Boston Post. A parody on this ong appeared, 
at the time the troops sailed for Mexico, which was written probably by 
some Eaxatical Traitor, and Disunioxist, or some Anti-Church, 
AxTi-CiiRiSTiAX, and Axti-E very-Thing, poet of the Ahhij Folsom, 
and William Lloi/d Garrison faction, the last tAvo lines of each versQ 
ending with, 

" Stay at home, and hoe your 'taters, 
And b3 sure that von arc right." 



46 



I. 

Huzza ! we ask no reason, 

But rush on to the fight ; 
We scorn the voice of treason — 

We feel that we are right. 
At Monterey our brothers 

Wave our glorious banner high ! 
Shall they alone — no others 

Share the wreaths of victory ? 

II. 

Aye, gallant hearts are thronging 

To the banners of the free — 
Hearts that feel they're strong in 

Their country's purity : 
Their vows are on her altars, 

Their bright swords in their hands — 
With devotion that ne'er falters, 

They will charge those hostile bands. 

III. 

Bands, driven by oppression 

To meet the brave, and free, 
Who long since made confession 

They would hail our sovereignty ! 
We know all a soldier's duty — 

We will fight them if they fight ; 
Only yield to youth and beauty, 

For we feel that we are right. 



47 

OUR BOSTON IVIEN. 

I. 

We have men in Boston, 

Walking round our town, 
Who look like antique statues 

From their niches taken down. 

II. 

Very noble looking persons, — 
With a style and cast of face 

That a Powers well might copy, 
As the height of manly grace. 

III. 

But these men are not of marble. 
For they act, and think, and feel, — 

And to virtue, truth, and honor. 
They are ever true as steel, 

lY. 

When the plaintive voice of sorrow 
Has asked aid from purse or pen, 

Who have granted it so freely 
As our noble Boston men ? 



48 

ASCUlNEY MOUNTAIN. 
Ascutney Mountain, in Windsor and Wethersfield, Yt. rises three 
thousand three hundred feet, above the level of the sea. The view from 
this Mountain is thought finer, than that obtained from Mount AVash- 
ington. There is a beautiful water fall, some thirty feet high, on the 
"Western side of the Mountain. The writer feels confident, from his own 
recollections of the White Mountains that there is no view there, that can 
equal the one obtained from Ascutney. The following lines were writ- 
ten, while enjoying the view from the western slope of this mountain, 
during a -recent visit. 

LINES WRITTEN ON ASCUTNEY MOUNTAIN. 

I. 

Ascutney ! from tlij rocky steep, 

I look afar o'er hill and dale, 
And see yon glittering river sweep 

In beauty through the peaceful vale. 
I see the curling smoke-wreaths rise 

Where burn our early Autumn-fires, 
And pointing to the silent skies, 

Gleam, far and near, the scattered spires. 
II. 
And distant as my eye can stretch, 

Unnumbered hills, with verdure green. 
The slanting rays of sunset catch, 

While shaded valleys sleep between. 
And silently the eagle soars 

Above the hamlet and the hill. 
And, save where yonder torrent roars. 

The whole broad earth seems calm and still. 



^i^^ 





014 014 840 4 




